


Anne and Gilbert: Hair Like October

by The_Hobbit_Ninja



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Anne Shirley Realizes Feelings For Gilbert Blythe, Anne Shirley in Denial, Diana Barry Ships Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley, Falling In Love, Fluff, Muriel Stacy Ships Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley, Sebastian "Bash" Lacroix Ships Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley, Teen Romance, believable dialogue, cole mackenzie ships anne shirley and gilbert blythe, expanded story, gilbert is falling hard, one shots, they are just so cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:20:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26067883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Hobbit_Ninja/pseuds/The_Hobbit_Ninja
Summary: I really don’t understand anything about Billy. I can’t help but think she’s singularly pretty. Obviously not in the same way as Diana or Josie, not perfect like an emotionless doll, but somehow more attractive for it. It’s like she stores a bit of her soul in her eyes, unlike the other girls who more often than not seem like they’ve never had a real thought in their life. She reminds me of October, crisp and fresh, red leaves and blue sky eyes and all. My fingers feel tingly just thinking about getting to touch that hair, I’ve never seen anyone sporting a similar color. I imagine that it might even feel hot to the touch, it’s so very red it must feel different from other people’s hair.This is a series of one-shots from Gilbert's perspective. Their relationship developing in and out of canon scenes, all in first person!
Relationships: Diana Barry/Jerry Baynard, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley, Jerry Baynard & Anne Shirley
Comments: 16
Kudos: 46





	1. Hot to the touch

**Author's Note:**

> Hello folks! I just started this show, and I am halfway through season three despite having started it a week ago. In other words, I like it a lot XD I loved the books and I really enjoyed most of the plot changes in Anne with an E. And of course, as you know if you have followed my other fanfics, I fall hard for a good character ship! So, kind reader, enjoy this fluffy mess. I thought Gilbert's facial expressions in Anne With an E were so interesting (Kudos to Lucas Jade Zumann!), it looks like he's thinking hard at all times, and I wanted to explore that. So here are a series of first person one-shots exploring what he's thinking while falling for a certain redhead:) Please be sure to drop me a line in the comments, interaction from you guys would literally make my day. Feel free to correct any mistakes, and let me know what scene/one-shot you would like to see next!  
> Enjoy:)

I honestly have no idea what my end goal is. All I know is that I feel a strong, ridiculous, inexplicable need for this random new fiery redheaded oddly cute girl to at least acknowledge my existence. It wouldn’t be that hard for her to say a few civil words, so why does she appear to think of me as about as interesting and desirable as a floorboard? I wonder why Billy was being nasty to her...I’d bet my bottom dollar it had to do with Prissy and Mr. Philips, but if that girl actually called out their unsustainable and frankly disgusting relationship for what it was I really need to know her. I won’t let someone that gutsy get away without even a word. No, the whole Prissy thing makes sense, but why Billy would tear her apart for her LOOKS and even BEING AN ORPHAN, both literally completely out of her control, is beyond me. Being an orphan must be purest agony, let alone actually living in an orphanage, and he finds it amusing to rub it in her face? What kind of person derives pleasure from such sick and pointless provocation? And bashing her for her looks, seriously come on, what’s wrong with her anyway? Of course getting a dig about one’s looks would be quite annoying for anyone, but I have a feeling that she’s rather painfully accustomed to this certain type of slap. I really don’t understand anything about Billy. I can’t help but think she’s singularly pretty. Obviously not in the same way as Diana or Josie, not perfect like an emotionless doll, but somehow more attractive for it. It’s like she stores a bit of her soul in her eyes, unlike the other girls who more often than not seem like they’ve never had a real thought in their life. She reminds me of October, crisp and fresh, red leaves and blue sky eyes and all. My fingers feel tingly just thinking about getting to touch that hair, I’ve never seen anyone sporting a similar color. I imagine that it might even feel hot to the touch, it’s so very red it must feel different from other people’s hair.

If it’s possible to smack oneself metally, that’s what I am currently doing. What right do I have to go thinking about touching some girl’s hair? This particular girl does not seem like she would take kindly to a shot at it anyway. I think my brain actually hurts with the next mental slap. I ALWAYS pay attention, and I haven’t heard a word Mr. Philips has said in at least five minutes. If I got called out for it I’d deserve whatever he wanted to shell out. 

But what if I could get her attention right now, when the others might not be looking? It’s possible that they’ll be so engrossed in the lesson that they won’t even-

Who am I kidding. No one in this little room gives two cents about anything Mr. Philips is saying, and they would all be sure to pounce on any gossip or scene if I foolishly gave them a toehold. I throw something at her anyway. What is the matter with me today? She obviously saw, I see those blue eyes cutting to the floor under flaming eyelashes. Still no other reaction though. As quietly as possible I grab some random bit of something out of my desk, and--dear lord am I actually doing this?--toss it at her. How on earth has Mr. Philips not noticed my insanity yet? Somehow her lack of reaction hits me like a challenge. I cannot resist a challenge. As quietly as physically possible I slide out of my seat and slip over to the girl’s side of the room. I know where the floors creak, so silence is not that difficult. I kneel down beside her, hard cold floorboard digging into my knees.

“Whoops…”  
Wow, would anyone in their right mind believe that that was an accident. Goodness sakes I don’t make sense to me today. 

“Hey…”

What on God’s green earth is the plan here? What happens if she says something, if she responds? I have about eight seconds before Mr. Phillips catches me, so what kind of delusional conversation am I after? Still somehow, as she ignores me entirely though I have done absolutely nothing except be helpful and pleasant to her, a mixture of anger and determination burns in my chest. Oooh, I know what’ll get her. 

I grab the end of her long red braid and yank, a bit harder than I meant to. 

“Carrots!”

I was right, somehow. Her hair leaves a lingering heat in my fingertips. Maybe it’s just me. 

“I’M NOT TALKING TO YOU!”

Did boiling water just douse the side of my face? It certainly feels like it, but the stars behind my eyes could only come from impact. I pull my eyes open, and see with a feeling I absolutely cannot describe that her chalk slate has spiderweb cracks all through it. Did she just hit me over the head with a slate?!? 

This is her. This is the girl I want. Though the side of my face feels on fire, the corners of my mouth turn up. I can’t help it. Who could, when the girl of your dreams proved that she was just that by smashing your face with a slate? 

“You just did.”

I can’t help but feel a momentary thrill of pleasure when I realize that I managed to get a feel of that hair. Half a second later guilt falls on my head far harder than Anne’s whack. That was something Billy would do. He would pull a girl’s hair and insult her where he knew it would hurt. Dear God did I just insult her in the hopes that she would like me? What...why did I...why would I think...WHAT?” My brain is not interested in helping me out in this situation. 

“SHIRLEY!”

No no no nooo what did I just do? If it would help anything I would bust another slate on my head right now. 

“It was my fault! I was teasing her!”

Please please I should get it, not her! If he concocts the humiliation she always conjures up for students for this girl, I don’t think I’ll ever have the right to look at her again. 

“THAT IS NO EXCUSE!”

Yes it is, yes it goddamn well is! I can’t tell if I said it out loud or not, but given the lack of reaction I assume I didn’t. 

My whole face is numb now, probably from the slate, but the whole rest of me is numb from watching her stand there with a sea of memory in those surreally expressive blue eyes. 

Then she bolts. 

Straight out the door, red braids flying, boots clomping on the creaky floorboards. Wow. Was that bravery or cowardliness? Bravery, I think. For some reason getting up to follow her feels like the most reasonable course of action. The bench scrapes the floor as I bounce up and sprint after her. She’s unbelievably quick and annoyingly untiring. She keeps disappearing into the trees for a moment, but it’s easier to track someone with flames for hair when everything around her is evergreen and dirt. How is it even possible that she’s still running? My lungs might give up and die inside me if she doesn’t let up pretty soon. 

FINALLY she pulls up sharply at what appears to be the edge of the world. The ocean assaults the base of the cliffs with untiring repetition, and for a moment I just close my eyes and let the sound of the waves drown out thoughts and exhaustion. The sound becomes part of me, crashing in time with my slowing pulse. At last I feel capable of breath, and thus speech. Carefully I creep up beside her. I can see tear tracks down the side of her face, and her breathing is choppy. Guilt must certainly be the worst emotion available for human experience. 

At least she doesn’t have anything hard or sharp, so as long as she doesn’t resort to just shoving me off the cliff I should walk away with both eyes and all appendages. Slowly I sidestep a little closer. When I turn to look at her she clamps shockingly white hands over her face. 

“When I run and my face turns red it looks like I am entirely red, most cursed of colors. DON’T LOOK AT ME.” 

“Ok! It’s ok, it’s fine, I won’t look at you.” I turn to stare over the ocean, but out of the corner of my eye I can see she still has her hands plastered to her face. I feel that few things are sadder or more beautiful than those who can’t see how beautiful they really are. 

“Ann, just-”

She says something but between the crashing waves and her hands over her face it’s unintelligible. 

“Wait what?”

Her voice is forceful and angry, but I can tell the fight has mostly gone out of her. 

“ANNE WITH AN E!”

“Oh yes, of course, Anne with an E, will you let me speak?”

“Do whatever you want, what do I care?”

I turn back to face her. 

“I SAID DON’T LOOK AT ME!”

“No no I’m not I swear! I have my eyes closed, ok, I won’t look at you, though if I did I don’t think the view would be as bad as all that.”

“Uuhhhg why do stupid boys always think they can have whatever they want with a fake compliment? I know I’m ugly.”

“But you’re not.”

“I am! Mrs. Lind says so, Billy, Josie, even Marilla and Jerry agree with me.”

“Well you’re wrong, so by logical extension they are too.”

“Oooh shut up don’t try and make me think any better of you by sounding SMART, I’ll beat you in every subject just you wait.”

“I don’t doubt it. So you’ll be coming back to school then?”

“THAT’S NOT WHAT I SAID!”

“It’s what you implied.”

“Uhhhhhhg” it sounded like an animal growl “what is the point of you being here anyway?”

“On earth in general or next to you right now?”

“BOTH.”

“Well if you have a complaint about my existence I suggest you take it to a higher level than me, you might be able to pry some information out of our gracious heavenly father.”

Her muscles seem to tighten.

“Do you say gracious heavenly father when you pray?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I think it sounds much better than just ‘Dear Lord’ or whatever bland form of address people might come up with.”

She allows her fingers to open in a slit, and I see a sliver of blue eye glittering in the space.

“Maybe there is one good thing about you.”

“Well I call that success!” I smile, but before I can get another word out she snaps her fingers back together.

“You said you would close your eyes, they’re wide open!”

“Sorry! Sorry sorry ok, I forgot. But if you give me the chance I do have something real to say. I swear to our gracious heavenly father that I’ve got my eyes glued shut now.”

“Fine.”

I close my eyes. The blackness behind my eyelids is somewhat disconcerting when standing on the edge of a cliff. Slowly I reach out toward her. We’re only standing about two feet apart, so it shouldn’t be hard. I crack my eye open just a slit to locate her wrists, then close them again. I feel her shudder at my touch.

“What are you doing?”

“I can’t talk to someone with no face. I swear I won’t look though.”

Carefully I close my hands around thin wrists. She’s so malnourished she must be literally skin and bone. I feel like one pinprick might bleed her out. Her skin in cold, so cold I am not even sure how it got that way. I want to pull her close and let my body heat ease some of that deathly chill, but I think if I took that liberty I would never see the light of day again. Instead I gently pull her hands from her face. Surprisingly, she doesn’t resist. 

“Ok, that’s better. But see, I’m a man of my word, I shan’t look unless you let me. What I have to say is...um...I’m sorry. I can’t believe I was so mean, I guess I just...wanted you to...I don’t know.”

“You seemed like someone nice enough not to insult my hair like EVERYONE ELSE.”

I think my face must be redder than her hair now. My stomach is twisting itself over. I could have at least been a safe person for her. 

“I didn’t mean to insult you...I mean…”

“I’ve never seen CARROTS used as a compliment.”

“I’m sorry. I’m really truly sorry.”

She sighs. I can almost FEEL deliberation emanating from her in waves. After a moment she takes a deep breath. 

“You can open your eyes if you want.”

I shouldn’t be grinning but I am. I got her. I open my eyes but the cold light makes me squint. 

“See? Not ugly.”

Her sigh ends in a laugh this time. 

“You are either blind or a liar, Gilbert Blythe.”

Something warm settles in my chest at the sound of my name in her voice. Wow, I am seriously out of it today. I literally just met this girl! Still though, I’m curious.

“Why wouldn’t you talk to me?”

Her face goes hard and cold again.

“It’s a secret.”

“Entrusted to you by whom?”

“If I told you that it’d give it away.”

“Can I guess?”

No response.

“Was it Ruby?”

She throws herself on the ground dejectedly, laying on her back and staring at the sky. 

“Why must people make it so dreadfully difficult to keep wretched secrets?”

“Ahh, so I got it first try ey?”

“Since your so good at GUESSING, why don’t you answer it yourself.”

Her words sound poisonous but her face looks inexplicably relieved. Did she want me to get it right? I lower myself down beside her. The sky is shrouded in thick gray clouds, but bits of robin’s egg blue shine though rents in the rain-threatening armour. Today is already an insane day, why not take an extra risk?

“You see, I actually think your hair is singularly fascinating. Really I just wanted to see if it feels as warm as it looks. But, being--I think you pegged me as a ‘stupid boy’--I could think of no better way than ‘carrots’”

At this, she burst out laughing. I have never heard anyone who laughs with such complete abandon as Anne. With an E, of course. 

“That is...the most ridiculous...tactic…”

Her words are periodically interrupted by peels of laugher,

“I have...ever...heard! What did you think would happen dummy?”

“I honestly have no idea.”

She busts out laughing again. I can’t say I don’t like it.

“Fine, well, if you really want to feel the wrath of a redhead’s hair-”

She grabs the end of one braid and runs it quickly up and down my face.

“Stop it, ahh, that tickles!”

“Obviously!”

It feels good to laugh. Everything going wrong in my life right now--which is a lot--seems to fade for a minute. After a moment she flops onto her back again. She turns her head to look at me. 

“Now don’t you dare think we are FRIENDS or something.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“How about, ‘enemies with an understanding of non-malicious conduct’? That sounds rather poetic doesn’t it?”

“I think that sums it up nicely.” 

Suddenly she hops up, so lightly it’s as if the breeze just pulled her to her feet. 

“I must be going, Marilla will need me at the house.”

“Well...ok then.” She has such a sudden way of expressing herself I find it difficult to keep up. “See you at school then?”

She’s already running in the direction of green gables. She turns around to jog backwards for a second. 

“You wish!” 

Then she whips around, October hair blowing out in the wind, and disappears into the forest. 

I would say, on the whole, this was a good day.


	2. I intend to get more than an apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The coffee shop scene with a twist:)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I changed the dialogue slightly from what it was in the show, but I just felt like the Gilbert we know and love would totally write first. Also please alert me if I'm being too sappy here, I'm just awfully in love with these two being in love XD

I want to leave Avonlea, but I don’t want to leave An- my classmates. Mental slap. I couldn’t care less about most of them. I don’t want to leave Anne. The thought feels like a thrill of pleasure and a ton of bricks dropped on my head simultaneously. I wish I could somehow reserve her or something. I’d wait if she would. What is wrong with me, RESERVE? I make her sound like an object, and she is anything but. And wait for me, who am I kidding. What was it she called us that one time? “Enemies with an understanding of non-malicious conduct,” that was it. I can’t help but chuckle even as I remind myself for the thousandth time that that is clearly not something a girl with even a shred of interest would say. But Anne somehow doesn’t feel like A GIRL, more like a beautiful spirit that I have inexplicably fallen for since said beautiful spirit tried to smash my skull with a slate. My brain hurts from repeated mental slaps. Beautiful spirit? Dear Lord I’m going downhill fast.

I demand belief from my rebelling mind. I haven’t fallen for her, or if I have I will get up right now, because I can’t waste time and energy thinking about someone I won’t see for years. But it’s just so unreasonably hard to get her out of my head. Hard not to imagine how it would feel to unwind those perpetual braids and sink my hands into that warm red hair…

What in the name of all that is holy am I doing right now? If it is possible to scream at oneself without making a sound, that is what I am doing. I’m leaving, it’s settled, I’m leaving Avonlea and everyone in it. There is nothing for me there. Not even Anne, who will never think of me as anything but a passive enemy who called her carrots and stands in the way of her being top of the class. Anyway, once again, I remind myself that I won’t see her for--

No, that is NOT possible. My stupid thoughts must be running away with me. But as I stare through the smudged window of the pawn shop, I see her, obviously Anne. Who else holds herself as if she’s about to take off and fly? What other girl would be clearly bargaining with a grown man for a higher price on her--what would she call it--all her worldly possessions? Who else has hair just like October leaves? 

I see her catch a look out the window, turn away, then snap back around. I see her lips form the words, “Gilbert Blythe?”

The shop keeper appears to ask her what she is talking about, and she bursts into another monologue. I don’t know why everyone says she talks too much. I think what it really means is they don’t listen enough. I could listen to her talk for hours. 

When she comes out her look of speechless surprise stays etched on her pale face. I feel that same need to pull her close and offer some warmth as I did that first day when I followed her to the cliffs. I want her pressed up against me-  
God, WHAT IS MY PROBLEM? 

“I…I think I need to sit down.” That is not like her at all. Usually if someone offered her a seat she would stand for hours just to prove that all human courtesy is unneeded. 

“Of course!”

I follow her into the coffee shop next door. Of course she leads off with an apology. I don’t want an apology, I want to say lots of things that I will NOT allow myself to say. Honestly I think I owe her an apology just as much as she owes me. She said I was lucky compared to her after my father’s funeral. It’s true. I wouldn’t call myself lucky, but lined up against her my life has been practically idyllic. When the oppressive cloud of grief started to clear, I could see clearly that in her own slightly abrasive way she was trying to offer comfort. What to me sounded insensitive and self-absorbed rang in her ears as friendly and supportive and uplifting. That’s all that matters. To me at least. I try to apologize in my turn, but she keeps cutting me off. When I ask her if we can not argue for once, I hear myself sounding almost angry. What I really feel is...I can’t peg it. Something between disappointment, frustration, and some kind of unsatisfied desire that--annoyingly, once again--I can’t quite describe. As little as I want to admit it I think that last bit has something to do with the hands in hair thing. Wow I seriously need to shut that part of me up. I need to go. Why does she always make things so hard while simultaneously making me feel like things are possible? I hate this and I lov-

“I think I have to go.”

“Oh, of course, sorry.”

“If you apologize one more time I might not write to you.”

“Write to...what?”

“Well I’m planning on writing to you, not what. I intend to get more than an apology.”

I honestly have no idea what I’m doing. I just swore that I wouldn’t think about her while I am gone. Now I promised to write to her?

“Why would you want to write to me?”

“I’m gonna let you take a guess. As I mentioned, I have to go. Keep a lookout for that letter carrots.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What one-shot do you want to see next?? It doesn't have to be canon at all, it could be just a scenario you want to see:) Lmk in the comments! <3


	3. I chose this life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert attempts to write to Anne from the ship he is working on, off the coast of Trinidad. The friend mentioned is of course Bash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Anne and Gilbert parted ways before he left, I had a feeling that he would totally write to her first, but we don't get to see his letter. Here is my interpretation and explanation! Let me know what you think, I had fun with this chapter. How am I doing staying in character?

Dear Anne,

How does it feel to be the top of the class? Just remember you’re only beating me because I'm thousands of miles away. You’d better stay on your toes Shirley, never know when I might be storming back with a whole store of worldly knowledge…  
I am in Trinidad at the moment shoveling coal like my life depends on it, because it does. I have made one friend, which is more than I had in Avonlea. Every time Billy called me his “bud” I almost knocked his teeth out. I actually did once. The above-mentioned friend can’t believe I would leave comfortable farm life and school and the girl I like for the bottom of a ship. He doesn’t understand that I never wanted to work on a farm and I find the world far more interesting than a one room school house full of people who couldn’t care less about learning anything (except for one specific carrot-headed girl who asks people to spell her name with an E when they SPEAK IT. I feel comfortable saying such horrendous things because, as I mentioned previously, I am thousands of miles away from your slate). As for this ridiculous friend’s notion about a girl, he won’t give me a moment’s peace about it trying to get me to recite some love sonnet or something despite my incessant rebuttals.   
Anyway, I’ll need a few favors:  
If you can figure out who this girl is, won’t you let her know for me?   
Give Mr. Philips enough poisonous looks for the both of us  
Make sure to stay out of trouble. Save it all for if I ever come back, it is singularly entertaining  
If you can find it in your heart, give that poor French kid a break. He obviously likes you, maybe attempt civility?  
Write back, but be careful, I will spell check every word.

Make sure to tell me how you’re doing, otherwise I will feel quite bad for asking all those favors and using up perfectly good paper talking about myself. Feel free to insult me for my carrot-headed remark, I deserve it. That friend I mentioned told me I deserved much worse than a slate over the head for my original dig, so this offense calls for strong words. I trust you know enough of them to put me thoroughly in my place. If I didn’t know better, I would conclude this rambling manuscript with ‘Love, Gilbert’, but I am sure you would take it completely the wrong way and never write back. Consequently, I shall simply say:

Respectfully,  
G. Blythe

P.S. I delivered a baby the other day. Yes, you read that right. I shall only provide details if you write back.  
P.P.S. Tell Billy that if he ever messes with you again, I shall tame a host of crocodiles from this area of the world and bring them back to eat him.   
P.P.P.S. I take it back about you telling the girl if you figure it out. It’s not Ruby, and if you mistakenly believe it is and provide her with that faulty information, she will probably write her vows on the spot, and we can’t have that.  
P.P.P.P.S. I am sincerely sorry for all these post scripts. 

I fold the letter neatly in half, then half the other way. I can’t help smiling at the thought of her outrage at half the letter.   
“Hey Blythe! Writing to your girl ey?”  
The burly man approaches. He hates me because I started singing the first day to keep from crying from the heat of the furnaces and the coal dust in my eyes and the sickening motion of the ship. He is my direct supervisor, who reports to someone higher up. Apparently he was worried that if he didn’t shut me up the others might join in, and he would catch a beating from his boss (who happens to be perpetually drunk). 

“She’s not my--I mean no, I’m writing to...um...my father.”

He snatches the paper from my hand, leaving coal smudges over the words. 

“Dear Anne? Your father indeed! What, you embarrassed?”

“No!”

“You a liar?”

“Not sure what you want me to tell you.” I put on a steely calm exterior but my heartbeat is in my throat. He might burn up the letter, and I brought precious little paper, or he might decide to just throw me right into the furnace and have done with it. True to form, he is also perpetually drunk. 

“Well unrepentant liars can’t be trusted now can they?” His words are slurred. Fear hardens into anger. 

“Just give it back okay? It’s mine and you have no right to-”

He drops the paper into a bucket of tar. Anger is now mixed with raw rage and bitter disappointment. 

“That’s what you get for shirking your work! If I ever catch you trying to replicate this love poem you’ll catch it, sure and certain! Back to work Blythe!”

I blink back tears. It’s just the coal dust, obviously. I chose this life.

I pick up the shovel, and the repetitive motion drowns out uncomfortable thoughts.


	4. She seems to have that effect on me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set on the day Gilbert gets back from his travels, finding Anne has cut her hair off (in an attempt to remove the green XD). Sorry, I know this one is a bit short...more coming soon, should school schedule allow!

It feels good to breath sharp cold air again. As much as I loved venturing out from the small world of Avonlea, I am happy to be rid of the crushing blanket of humidity that clogged every breath on the ship and in Trinidad. Going back to the tiny one-room school house should feel stifling, right? It should. But somehow it doesn’t. Instead I feel a fluttering in my chest. It feels...good? I don’t know if it feels like coming home...actually I do know. It doesn’t. Not without father here. No, it doesn’t feel like coming home, but it feels like I am where I am supposed to be. As I walk up the two steps to the schoolhouse door the fluttering feeling intensifies. It’s like feeling nervous, but I don’t think I want it to go away, because it undeniably feels good, warm, just...fluttery. When I hang my hat on the tilted metal hook in the little “coat room” corner, it feels oddly like I never even left. Like Trinidad and the ship and the furnaces and even Bash were all just a vivid dream clinging to consciousness after reality opens one's eyes. I take a deep breath. I’d rather not everyone have a seizure of questions when I come in the room. I know they will, they’ll want to ask me and pull me and watch me and they’ll have expectations and opinions. I don’t blame them, but I just don’t want it right now. I wish we could all pretend I never left. Well, I wish most of them would pretend I’d never left, ignore me and just let me go about my life alongside them without them needing something from me, something I’m not even sure how to give.

There is one though, one that I DO want to notice that I’m back. One who’s questions I would like to answer, because she would ask them with that singularly unabashed and joyous curiosity that will not be contained no matter how socially unacceptable the object of that curiosity. I would like to tell her everything about the things I have no interest in telling anyone else, simply because she would care and they wouldn’t, though each might pretend to feel the opposite way. None of the other students care, not really. And who am I kidding, she most likely doesn’t care a whit about me either. The fluttering stills. Well, nothing for it but to plunge. 

I walk around the corner and, as I anticipated, am bombarded with faces and hands and questions and an awful lot of nothing. But she isn’t there. Anne isn’t there. Whatever the nervous pleasure feeling was is doused with cold water. As it very well should be, I remind myself. I answer questions with vague but apparently semi-satisfying replies, half of my brain trying to climb out of a fog. This place can’t possibly be on the same planet as I was on just a week or two ago, the hot humid vibrant planet that I left to come here. 

Suddenly the chatter ceases as if on cue, as if some invisible conductor drew a sharp streak of silence through the air. Everyone is staring at the door. Silence is replaced by whispering and giggling, not the giggling of a joke being told but of someone being a joke. 

Then I see her. Same brown dress, small bag of books, same red hai-

Wow. Just...wow. Her hair, that lovely warm red hair, is gone. Well, that’s not true. Not gone per se. It is cut so short there isn’t any left to braid. Diana’s ribbon is tied around her head, the blue standing out sharply against the remnants of october red. Her face when she sees me almost makes me laugh. Shock and something else...embarrassment? makes her face look even paler than it usually appears. 

“Anne! It’s...umm… really good to see you.”

Well that sentence was about as sincere sounding as “sorry for your loss” at a funeral.

She nods, quick and sharp, before turning and sliding into the seat beside Diana. I wish she didn’t have to feel embarrassed. I wish this room full of closed-minded children who take pleasure in mocking the girl who’s had it worse than any of us would leave her alone in at least this one situation. This one time give her a break. But no, of course not. The giggling and sideways comments don’t let up. I wish suddenly and passionately that she might not feel embarrassed because I’m here. I don’t want to add any wood to that bonfire. I decide on the spot that I’ll have to catch Billy right before lunch, before he can say anything and give him a nice square threat to remember if he does. 

“I see we have a new boy in the class today!”

How is it that Mr. Philips gets away with actively mocking his students? 

“Do you need to sit on the other side of the room today?”

Her face is flaming red, eyes shiny, blinking fast. I want to do something, to stand up for her in some way shape or form, but no practical plan of action comes to mind. I want to tell her that I don’t care what happens to her HAIR, that it’s stupid that anyone would, and that I actually kind of...like it. I’d like to gently pull off the ribbon and slowly run my fingers through the warm red hair, short or not. Wow, just got back and I’m stuck on the hands-in-hair thing again. Goodness gracious I need to find other things to think about. I don’t like that someone has the power to make me think things I don’t want to be thinking. 

But if I’m being perfectly honest--I cringe even thinking it--I do sort of like it. I wince. Looks like I’m back to the internal smacking myself thing too. She seems to have that effect on me.


	5. A bride, not a wife

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set at Prissy's wedding. I absolutely loved that look Gilbert gave Anne as Prissy was walking down the aisle (I mean how much more obvious can you get lol) and I thought it would be fun to find out what he was thinking:) Enjoy!

I stand opposite her across the aisle. It always ends up this way, always ends up with her right there, right across, close but not quite. Never close enough to mean anything. The heavy oaken church doors swing open, revealing Prissy on her father’s arm. In her white veiled state, white-blonde hair blending right in, unhealthily white skin, white gloves, white dress down to the floor, she looks surreal, like if it was suddenly summer she might melt right along with the three feet of snow clogging Prince Edward Island at the moment. She walks down the aisle so slowly its as if she’s dreading something. A strange feeling of doubt sits in the back of my mind. A girl getting married shouldn’t look like she’s walking to an execution with a smile on her face. As she glides ever so slowly past me, I can’t help but look past her to the girl across from me. Her face is alight with some incredibly complicated emotion between joy and awe and adoration. As the descriptors cross my mind I realize with annoyance that those adjectives apply when I look at HER. 

Something about a wedding messes with my rational thinking. Usually I can outthink my odd feelings with spelling and history and arithmetic. I’ve gotten quite good at using whatever inconvenient things I might think when I look at her for fuel to work harder at beating her in schoolwork. Whenever it comes to the point though I waver. I still can’t believe I let her win the spelling bee. Of course I know that “engagement” has an E between G and M. The worst part was that she knew I knew. She knew what I was doing, but she took it as patronizing rather than--  
whatever it was. 

Prissy is almost to the altar now. As the ceremony begins, I suddenly remember overhearing the girls’ conversation at lunch one day. They were discussing the proper rules of kissing. I didn’t mean to hear at first, but it was so funny I couldn’t help but listen. Of course Diana and Ruby and Josie were discussing who they wanted to kiss and the proper method and logistics and how they would go about hinting for a boy to kiss them. I nearly gave away my position laughing. I don’t think girls understand what we think. They seem to either believe us too stupid to think anything, or assume we have very VERY longterm plans for them that we have of course never thought of (AHEM RUBY). Then Anne’s voice had cut through their completely misguided advice. 

“If I wanted to kiss a boy couldn’t I just...kiss him?”

Why aren’t more girls like her? 

“NO! That is NOT how things are done!” the girls chorused. 

Maybe other boys want girls who sit and wait and think that looking sideways at you all the time somehow qualifies them to MARRY YOU practically on the spot. 

Personally I prefer someone who is willing to defend her reputation by smashing a slate over my head, would smash her own head if it meant beating me in schoolwork, and would kiss me if she wanted to. 

It was Anne who said she wanted to be a bride but not a wife, when she thought only Diana could hear. I can see her in a white dress, face glowing, red hair standing out against the pale. That hair would look so beautiful when whoever waited for her pulled the veil away. I catch her eye and deliberately rake my eyes once up and down her. She obviously knows what I’m thinking. Or at least part of it. Prissy looks as if she might just turn around and run at any moment, but I know if anyone ever got Anne to walk down the aisle she would go confidently, quickly. She would be a girl who knew what she wanted, and no one could ever talk her out of going to college so she could be a “dutiful wife.” Prissy is weak, but she is strong. It almost makes me squirm just thinking about someone trying to make Anne stay home just so that they could brag about their little wife. I’ve never understood why men do that. They act as if a girl with no opinion on anything, no brain, no desire for anything from a real kiss to an education, is a girl they can display, can call Theirs. Capital T on Theirs. Not the innocent “my girl” but their twisted definition of Mine, Their property to do what they want with. It’s disgusting. Who could enjoy that? I certainly wouldn’t. 

I take a deep breath, fill my lungs all the way. It feels like if I get enough air in it might wash out the annoyingly rebellious parts of my brain. I refuse to think about her any more, it’s pointless, she wouldn’t like it, I have no right, and I need to think about something else before I start moronically picturing myself at the other end of the--

No. absolutely not. I focus hard on Prissy and Mr. Philips, listing countries and capitals in my head for extra backup. 

Prissy looks out at the small church, full to capacity.

Stockholm, Sweden. Dublin, Ireland. 

She turns back as if to say her vows. The red hair is right there in my peripheral vision. Anne is someone who commands attention from a room when she’s there, even when she doesn’t try.

Paris, France. Otowa, Canada. London, Eng--

Prissy drops her flowers. She turns and runs. Away from the altar, back down the aisle, out the door into the snow. I feel unreasonably happy. Prissy chose college. She chose liberty, freedom, education. She chose...well, she chose choice. Maybe she is strong after all. 

She too was destined to be a bride but not a wife.


	6. It must be October

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dancing scene:)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter was super short, I didn't have a lot of time and I thought short and sweet would get the point across. Also I was feeling overly romantic this evening so this is awfully sappy, dreadfully sorry XD

I shouldn’t be feeling this way. I shouldn’t LIKE feeling this way. But as she stands across from me and the music starts I can’t really help it. At all. I grab the hands of the students to my left and right, and step crisply forward and backward in time to the music. She’s right there, right across from me, and as I take the last step forward we’re barely four inches apart. I want to cut four inches out of the air. When they call to “spin opposite” I take her hand and spin her around. Stars explode in my fingertips and something flips over in my stomach. She's so light it's shocking; I could lift her right off the floor easily. I shouldn’t feel this way. I try to think about Winnie, to remember what she expects of me, what I owe her at this point. Winnie is pretty, rich, sweet. The love of my life...of course. “Turn you partner, full around!” calls Mrs. Lynde in time with the music. I pull Anne significantly closer than strict necessity calls for as I turn her around. She notices. Her blue eyes stare into mine with something similar to shock, pleasure, disgust, and, distantly, revelation. Every time I touch her my fingers tingle and I feel something clawing at my chest, begging and threatening to make its way to my brain. But I have to remember Winnie! Right now Winnie feels so...anticlimactic. The dance sequence circles back to three steps forward and back. The distance between us is slimmer this time. 

The feeling I refused to give ground to makes its way into a full-fledged unwanted thought. 

I want to kiss her. Anne. I want to close that infuriating four-inch gap and kiss her, hard, no rush in the world. 

I can’t think of a time when I have been more disgusted with myself. I have Winnie. I owe those thoughts to Winnie. I have no right, NO RIGHT to think about Anne like that. She wouldn’t want me anyway. She would pull away, hurt, angry. I might lose an eye. 

The music stops. Feelings and sensations pile up inside me till I am positively flummoxed; I am acutely aware of obligation doing battle with desire. 

I do not want to live life with something missing. I don’t want to live a life that feels as if it never really peaked, never really…  
The word “anticlimactic” keeps surfacing in my storming brain. 

As much as I try to train my thoughts on Winnie, what I HAVE to do for her, all I can think about is how people assume July is the peak of the year.

I believe it must be October.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please Please Please comment and let me know how I'm doing!! Any interaction from y'all adds so much sunshine to my day:) Cheesy? Maybe. True? Yes.

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired in part by nianibbles, and their work "Anne and Gilbert Offscreen"! Feel free to take a look at that fic, it is very well done:)


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